Remember Me, Darling II: Call Him Crazy
by coleypunk-y2j
Summary: Must read Remember Me, Darling 1st! Now that the secret is out, Phil is bound and determined to claim what is rightfully his: Chris. Once Phil has his mind set on what he wants, he will stop at nothing to claim it. But, there's a catch, and his name is Justin Gabriel. Will Phil be able to change Chris' mind, or is it too late? SLASH. Chris/Phil Chris/Justin Jay/Adam. Please Review!
1. Catching Up

**Disclaimer:** I don't own or claim ownership to any WWE Talent.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warnings:** slash, language, etc.

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May 3, 2014

One year. One year ago his life had changed. He hadn't had contact with any of his friends during his time. So much had changed; he knew deep in his gut this to be true. A worn hand ran over a thick black beard. It itched something awful from the heat wave striking Chicago the past few days. He'd been sweating, and from past experience sweat made him itch wherever he had body hair.

He flicked his long black hair out of his face and continued on writing on the wall. The fact that his writings and various other scrawls were washed away once a week didn't deter the man. Writing was the only way to achieve any means of entertainment and sanity being locked in a cell for most of his days.

Dirt-encrusted fingernails scratched at the thick beard, annoyed. It felt like there were bugs crawling around along his jaw.

Jail had done him in poorly. However, he was being released on good behavior 3 months early. It would have been earlier had he not threatened to stab another inmate in the throat with a plastic fork half a year ago. During his 13 month stay, he had gone from 220 pounds down to 170. He never got used to jail food, and soon started to waste away. His eyes looked even more tired than they ever used to. A dark, gray ring surrounded the dull emerald eyes. More often than not, his eyes were swollen, as if he had spent the past night crying.

He hadn't been able to test it, but he was pretty sure his tongue piercing had closed up. He'd had his lip pierced for over ten years, so the hole was still there, thankfully. His ribs showed through his skin vividly. An almost opaque gray tone had set into his skin. A lot of his muscle had been absorbed by his hungry body, leaving him with little energy.

The most prominent change was definitely the hair. He hadn't had a beard in quite a few years this extensive. Shaving with cheap, jail razors made his face one giant scab, so growing it out had been the easiest option. When he was put in jail, his hair had been shaved down to his skin. Now, he sported long hair akin to when he debuted in WWE.

When his PO had told him two weeks ago that he was being released on good behavior soon, he sprouted up with a newfound burst of energy. However, that hope and excitement dwindled with each day that passed and he was still locked inside his 10' by 10' room.

Today, he was hoping more than ever that it would be the day he was released. A growing, gnawing anxiety was building up in his body at the realization that many things had obviously changed over the past year. Thoughts about Chris and his whereabouts came to mind, as did how Adam and Jay would look at him now. Would they even spare him a passing glance? If he were in their shoes, he didn't know if he could forgive that. Most importantly, though, was Adam still paralyzed? Despite the fact Phil remembered nothing of that night, he was still held in jail because of what he had done. To make sure that never happened again, and without even needing anger classes to do so, he taught himself yoga and meditation. It helped him calm down and find his inner peace, similar to finding ones feng shui.

A few more hours passed. At long last, however, he heard his name being called over the loudspeaker. He quickly reassembled his belongings and waited at the door for it to be unlocked.

He handed his sheet and toiletries to an officer, and in exchange received the things he was arrested with a year ago. Among the items was his wallet, his favorite pair of jeans, running sneakers, a Cubs t-shirt, his iPhone 5, his piercings, and his car and house keys. It all looked so foreign after not seeing items like these for a year.

He took his clothes into the bathroom and changed. To his relief, none of his holes had closed, so he put his jewelry back in. He handed over his jumpsuit and shoes before gathering his other belongings and leaving the jail.

The city instantly overwhelmed him. The sun hurt on his pale skin and burned a hole through his eyes. People passed at a fast rate, and he felt his anxiety levels soar. Fumbling around in his pocket, he took out his phone and tried to turn it on. It was dead. What had he been expecting?

With a wary sigh, he started walking down the street like a fish swimming upstream. He stumbled upon a Starbucks, and he went inside. The coffee shop was hectic, but not nearly as bad as the streets. Phil took out his wallet and pulled out a twenty before he ordered himself a coffee. He sat down in the corner and saw a man on the adjacent couch with a phone charger sticking out of his messenger bag.

"Excuse me, sir, do you mind if I charge my phone for a moment? It's completely dead and I need a ride home," Phil asked carefully. He felt odd talking to civilians.

"Not a problem," he answered. He dug his charger out of his bag and handed it over to Phil. With a thankful smile, he plugged it into the outlet near his chair and plugged it into his phone. He let it sit on the arm of his chair and charge while he sipped his coffee.

Once it turned itself back on, Phil opened it to find 6 voicemails and a "100+" bubble on his messages. He looked through them briefly before deleting them all before he moved on to his voicemail. To his frustration, they were of no importance to him.

He took the phone in hand and looked through his list of contacts. Who could he call?!

"I'll give Chris a try," Phil mumbled under his breath. Another habit he'd picked up in jail was talking to himself.

Phil hit Chris' number and nervously brought the phone to his ear. He listened to it ring, and ring, and ring. Finally, on the last ring, he heard the phone pick up.

"Chris?" he asked tentatively into the speaker.

"How are you calling me on your phone?" Chris asked slowly.

"I got released early on good behavior. You'd have known if, y'know, you visited sometime," Phil bit a little too harshly. He sucked in a breath before continuing. "I was wondering if you could come pick me up? I don't know where my car is."

The other line was silent for a moment. "A lot has changed since you were sentenced," Chris told him quietly. "The house was sold. I live in an apartment in Florida now."

"Guess you can't get me then, hm?" Phil mused. "Well, are Adam and Jay in town still?"

Again, Chris paused. "I… I don't think Jay would want to see you, Phil."

"Why not?" Phil asked.

Chris sighed. "Whatever. Call him. I've got things to do, yeah?"

"Sorry," Phil mumbled. "Bye."

Chris hung up before he could reply. With a sigh, Phil rubbed his face and called Jay's phone.

"Why are you calling?" Jay answered bitterly on the second ring. "Don't you think you've ruined my life enough as it is? Now you've got to fucking rub it in my face, don't you? Fuck off, Phil. I hate your fucking guts."

Phil swallowed uneasily. "What are you talking about, Jay?"

Jay chuckled angrily. "That little paralysis you put Adam in? Yeah, he's been a vegetable for a year now. The doctors thought he'd get better, but he only got worse. He can't feed himself, he can't breathe himself, and he can't go to the bathroom himself. He lays there, a tube forcing his chest to rise and fall. Another tube forces formula into his stomach. And another tube collects his shit and piss. I don't give a rat's ass if you 'don't remember' what happened, you fuck face. I never want to see you again. Don't call me again."

Without giving Phil any time to respond, he hung up. Phil brought the phone down slowly and instantly felt a wave of guilt surge over him. He hugged his knees to his chest and buried his face in his legs. Quiet tears fell from his swollen eyes and left little marks on his jeans.

With a 62% battery, Phil returned the charger and left the store. Where would he go? He literally had nothing, if what Chris had said was true. He hailed down a taxi and gave him the address to their house. To his dismay, he saw it had been sold, and a soccer mom van sat in the driveway. Not wanting to seem like a stalker, Phil started to walk. He pulled his phone out and called Chris again.

"Yeah?" he answered with.

"Why did you move to Florida?" Phil dared to ask.

"Because my boyfriend lives here," Chris responded.

That right there was Phil's worst fear from the start. Once he had finally realized he was gay, Phil never even got to love him again. He moved on to another guy and left Phil alone. This was his worst fear when he had decided not to tell Chris many months ago following his car accident. Adam had warned him. Jay had warned him. And he hadn't been listening.

All at once, Phil fell to the ground. His heart started beating erratically, and his limbs started shaking. He had to hold the phone with both hands to avoid dropping it. His stomach flipped and he felt bile rise in his throat. A burning wave of regret coursed through his veins, ripping them to shreds in the process. Tears collected in his eyes and fell with no other provocation. It literally felt like his world had turned upside down.

"Yeah, you've got a boyfriend now?" Phil asked. His voice shook despite himself and tears fell down and got stuck in his beard.

"Yeah," Chris answered like it should have been obvious. "You do remember Justin Gabriel from work, right?"

"That little rookie who looks like a werewolf? I know him."

"That 'little rookie' is now the Intercontinental Champion, and one of the number one contenders for the WWE title," Chris boasted with pride. "I'm the World Heavyweight Champion."

"Congratulations," Phil said with a watery smile despite himself. "I'm glad you've gotten over me so easily, too."

"You know, Phil, when you hide the fact that we were in a relationship for over five years and you didn't think to tell me once I couldn't remember it makes it fairly easy to get over you when you're taken out of the picture."

"But…," Phil stammered dumbly. "Did- did you ever love me?"

"It doesn't matter who I loved. I love Justin now, and I don't need you. Your stuff is in a storage room in Chicago. I'll e-mail you the address and the PIN. Good luck getting somewhere to live."

Chris hung up on him again. Phil locked his phone and cried into his skinny hands pitifully. His worst fear was now a reality, and it was all his fault, and there was nothing he could do about it.

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	2. Relocate

**Disclaimer:** I don't own or claim ownership to any WWE Talent.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warnings:** slash, language, etc.  
**BEFORE YOU READ:** Yes, I realize this chapter is really short. However, the next one will be significantly longer. I'll probably update it again tonight, since I haven't updated in a while as it is.

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May 7, 2014

Phil spent five long days gathering his belongings from storage and shipping them to a house he had rented in Tampa. While his love for the Windy City knew no bounds, it wasn't going to bring him any closer to Chris.

He had looked briefly online at a few houses near where Chris lived (he had done some private searching) and found a modest 2-story house about ten blocks from Chris' home. Without going to see it or really looking in to it, he dropped a pretty penny on it and set to work shipping everything there. While he was in jail, his name continued to sell, thankfully. He had a lot of money to work with.

The first time he sat down and ate real food, he immediately ran to the bathroom and threw it up. He still couldn't eat much more than a couple crackers without regurgitating it. It was going to take a while before his strength built back up and he could wrestle again. But, no, that didn't faze Phil at all; though he loved wrestling more than anything, Chris was far more important. Who the hell did Justin Gabriel think he was?

Phil watched as the moving company packed the last item into the tractor trailer and slammed it shut, creating a resounding bang throughout the storage parking lot. Phil got into his car and started it for the long drive to Tampa.

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May 8, 2014

Phil couldn't believe he had drove 17 hours, only stopping four times in the process, and even at 7 in the morning the sun was high in the sky and hot on Phil's pale skin. He wiped the sweat off his face before getting out of his car, sitting on the front deck, and watching as the movers brought all of his belongings inside. They had asked where he wanted everything, and he said he didn't really care. Material possessions honestly didn't matter to him at all. All that mattered was getting Chris back.

It was nearly two hours later when the moving guys had finished. Phil tipped them generously and waved them off. He watched the yellow truck pull out of his pebble driveway and wind down the road before he stood up and went inside.

The foyer was kind of narrow, though it did boast a closet door (spacious, surprisingly) on the left side and a coat rack on the right side. The kitchen was immediately to the right, with his dining table pushed into the back corner. A bathroom was right after the kitchen. The rest of the living area was a spacious living room. He went up the stairs that faced the front doorway and found his bedroom to the left. It was pretty big and had a master bathroom connected. There was a floor to ceiling window covering the wall facing his backyard, which was the home of a picnic table and very long grass. A concrete slab surrounded the back door near the downstairs bathroom, and his old grill sat there. He left his bedroom and checked out the guest bedroom and what his realtor had called an "office space". The guest bedroom was about half the size of his, though it had two skinny floor to ceiling windows on either side of the wall facing the neighbor's house. The "office" was a small, carpeted area. It would be a nice place to put a futon and a TV with some blackout curtains on the single window.

Phil went into the basement from the living room and looked around before he found his old futon. He did his best to push and shove it up the flight of stairs, but his lack of muscle mass made it almost impossible. Still, he pushed and struggled until he had it up two flights of stairs and in the Punk Cave.

Afterwards, Phil took a quick drive to a Wal-Mart and bought heavy curtains and a modest flat-screen TV. He drove home, made quick work of assembling and putting together each, and once he had completed, laid down on his futon and turned on the TV. He easily let the day slip by watching TV.

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	3. He's Not Okay

**Disclaimer:** I don't own or claim ownership to any WWE Talent.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warnings:** slash, language, etc.

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May 9, 2014

Chris looked around the room. It felt like he was looking in hyper-vision at his surroundings. The colors appeared too vivid, and the noises displaced. Justin's head full of thick brown hair lying against the white sheets seemed to cast a stark, tangible contrast that hung heavy around him.

When Chris had been recovering in the hospital after Phil had struck him with a car, he started to remember more and more of what his brain seemingly lost track of. Now, a year later, he remembered everything. He remembered his undying love for the man he was now disgusted by. He remembered all their firsts. He remembered the time they spent as lovers. All five years they were together, every single moment, he recalled. It physically pained him to even think about those times, because as much as he denied it, he still had an inkling of attraction to Phil. How could it be completely erased after five years together?

While Chris didn't know Phil's motives behind not telling him, he couldn't help obsess over it. The decision that Phil made to not tell Chris what his brain couldn't remember caused a lot of shit to happen. For example, Chris now had almost-crippling anxiety that a heavy dosage of medication and different forms of therapy couldn't completely eradicate. He would frequently dissociate, like now with the vivid sensations. In the early months, he was so agoraphobic he had to have a mental intervention. He still got a little anxious leaving the house, but he could go back to work. Having the structure of the familiar job made him feel secure. He was almost normal again.

…But even that was slowly starting to disintegrate. Knowing Phil was out of jail already made his nerves act up. He knew that Justin was starting to notice this, and when Chris informed him that he had been released, he got unusually quiet. Justin knew he still had feelings for the formally-incarcerated man, and he was most likely feeling some jealousy. Not that Chris could blame him at all. If the roles were reversed, he'd be jealous and very pissed. But Justin was very understanding and he tried to protect Chris as much as possible. They gave each other all their love; though there was one thing Chris couldn't give Justin no matter how much he wanted to.

Sexually, they were very vivacious. They were experimental and a little exhibitionist. They'd jerk each other off in public restrooms and on planes. Sometimes they'd rut against each other in the locker room. One time Justin had been working on a computer behind a desk when someone came in and started talking to him. Unbeknownst to the person, Chris was under the desk giving head to Justin, and like a true professional, Justin kept a straight face until they had left. However, when it came to penetrative sex, they had never done it. Chris would always suggest they do it, and they'd work each other up to the point, but when it came time to _actually_ penetrating, Chris would freeze and refuse. They'd tried multiple times as Chris bottoming and Chris topping, but nothing worked. He didn't know why he couldn't let go and enjoy himself. He wanted to so badly, but something in his mind wouldn't let him.

Chris let out a quiet sigh and stretched one of his arms towards Justin's mop of hair. He ran his fingers through the slightly tangled brown locks and gently massaged Justin's scalp. There was no doubt in his mind that he loved this man, but he couldn't drop his love for Phil, either. He and Justin both knew it, and Chris was terrified it would tear apart their relationship. Feeling a panic attack rise in his body, he reached over to his bedside table and grabbed a Xanax tab and swallowed it dry. With a tight-lipped grimace, he shut his eyes and tried to offset the anxiety in favor of sleep.

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"How is he doing today?" Jay asked Adam's doctor upon his arrival at the hospital. He arrived promptly at 10:30 each morning, as he had been doing for a year, to sit at Adam's bedside and provide him company. Jay would always tell Adam about his day, and how his night had been. He'd ask one-sided questions and often wondered aloud how Adam was doing. He knew Adam was in there somewhere, though he was trapped in a body that had succumbed to a vegetative state. They'd watch TV, Jay would read him the newspaper and magazines, and he read him novels. He could feel the nurses and aides and volunteers taking quick glances at him, and he knew they talked about him behind his back, but he didn't care. He promised Adam his love through sickness and in health. He wasn't going to back down on his promise.

"Same as always," the doctor told him. "However, he is moving a little bit more. Don't get your hopes up, though, Mr. Reso. These are most likely phantom movements and muscle twitches, not actual responsive movements."

"Thank you," Jay said sincerely. While others may have thought the doctor was rude, Jay appreciated his straight-forwardness with him. He hated being led on and having his hopes raised for no reason, and hated when people tried to sugar-coat bad situations. If something shitty happened, he wanted to just _know_ about it.

Jay let himself into Adam's room and dropped his bags on a chair. He bent down to Adam and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. Kissing someone who didn't reciprocate the action felt slightly akin to kissing a clam, but Jay had grown used to it and appreciated the fact he could still kiss Adam. "Good morning, Addy. I hope you had a great night. I couldn't really sleep last night. I think I might be getting some allergies. The pollen's really bad out there lately."

Jay let his eyes trail over Adam's mostly-still body. He watched the respirator inflate, deflate, inflate, deflate, and repeat the pattern for over a minute. The steady beat of Adam's heart, which fluctuated from 65 to 72 beats per minute, _always,_ resounded in Jay's head even when he wasn't in the room. He often fell asleep to the noise of it in his head. It was kind of like having Adam sleeping next to him. Nothing would compare to actually having Adam there, but it was the best he could get.

Jay stood up and pulled Adam's gown up. He noticed the colostomy bag was fairly full. He covered Adam's abdomen and pressed the call button by his bedside.

The nursing staff had caught on, very early on, that any activity to the call button from Adam's room was from Jay. When he felt they weren't correctly doing their job, they knew he would ring it. Nurses had been called in many times when Jay deemed the colostomy bag too full, or had decided the food in Adam's feeding line was too low, and in response they often ignored when the button went off. It was like the boy who cried wolf at times. They almost always ignored the first buzz. It was when subsequent buzzes went off, often in succession, that a nurse finally let out a loud groan and trudged into Adam's room to give in to whatever demands Jay had.

Jay pressed the button repetitively until a nurse came in.

"What can I do for you Jay?" she asked professionally. If she hadn't been taught to keep her professionalism in check, she'd have slapped Jay silly by now.

"I think Adam's colostomy bag is too full," he informed her. "I just got here and it looks like nobody has been taking care of Adam all night! Did you even move his muscles around to prevent contractures? Have you performed mouth care every two hours? I know you're busy, but Adam needs to be taken care of."

"It's in Adam's charts that he had full range of motion performed on him twice while you were home, and mouth care performed five times. You may do both now if you'd like. I'll change his bag as soon as I get the supplies ready."

"Please hurry with that," Jay said with no air of real urgency to his voice. Early on, when Jay pestered the nurses way too much, they had taught him how to perform ROM on Adam's unconscious body. They also taught him how to perform mouth care. It had been extremely beneficial to teach the wiry blond these techniques. He went in Adam's bedside table and gathered the mouth care materials. He wrapped gauze around a tongue depressor before he wet it and cleaned out Adam's mouth. When he finished, he set to work on his ROM exercises.

"Let's start with your arms today," Jay suggested.

He lifted Adam's right arm gently and moved it at every single joint in many ways multiple times. He rotated his arm right and left, and bent his arm at his elbow. He rotated and flexed his fingers and flexed at the different joints. He repeated this for Adam's other arm and then did the same for his legs. When he had finally completed, which since Jay had this down to a science now and it only took him about ten or fifteen minutes to do both mouth care and ROM, the nurse still hadn't returned from gathering her supplies. He jabbed the call button a few times until the nurse came back in.

"Jay, I was with another patient who had an emergency. I left the supplies in the supply room. I'll be right back."

Jay looked at her slightly suspiciously, but watched as she left the room once more.

"Jeez, it's like nobody does their job around here, huh?" he commented to Adam once they were alone.

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